


In Which Horace Receives an Education

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crying, Facials, M/M, Masturbation, Pseudo-Incest, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lord Sinwell's young ward has misbehaved, and Lord Sinwell intends to teach him a lesson.
Relationships: Victorian Gentleman/His Ward
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous, Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	In Which Horace Receives an Education

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



Lord Sinwell dragged his weakly protesting ward up the stairs by the arm, flung him onto the floor of the room they all still called the nursery (though Horace would be seventeen next May and already had the height, if not the manner, of a grown man), and locked the door, dropping the key into the pocket of his waistcoat. Horace tried to struggle to his hands and knees, but his lordship planted a foot in his back and drove him down again. "Have you no sense of propriety?" Lord Sinwell shouted.

"Please, sir—"

"No, I'll not have you try to talk your way out of this. Your parents really taught you nothing." Lord Sinwell looked around the room, searching for some suitable implement with which to beat the misbehavior out of his ward. Finding none, he sighed. "Must I paddle you over my knee like a child? Well, you have acted the child today, that is certain. Up." He seated himself in the tutor's chair, pulling it away from the desk. "Bend over my lap, lad, you know how it's done."

"Please," Horace tried again, slowly getting to his feet, "I don't—"

Lord Sinwell was up out of the chair in an instant. Two long strides brought him to hapless young Horace. Gripping the boy's shirt-front, he delivered a stinging clout over the ear. "Not another word," he snarled as Horace cried out in shock and pain. The hand in the shirt served to pull the boy over to the chair, and soon Lord Sinwell had him arranged properly, face in hands and backside bared.

His lordship was proud of his soft hands, and disliked the stinging sensation that bestowing chastisement provoked in his palms. He slipped off one of his shoes and employed this object instead, striking Horace's bottom several times in quick succession to vent his wrath. His ward cried and wailed and generally made a wretched spectacle of himself. "Take it like a man," Lord Sinwell growled, settling into a slower, steady rhythm. 

Horace quickly learned that speaking any clear word of protest resulted in a harsher blow from the shoe. He endeavored to suffer in silence, though tears streamed down his face.

At last his lordship's arm wearied. "I hope you have learned your lesson," he said to the sobbing boy who lay across his knees. "I would prefer not to exert myself in this fashion again, but I will not neglect my duty to provide you with a suitable upbringing and education, especially as those provided by your parents, may their souls rest in peace, were so clearly lacking."

Horace sniffled but said nothing.

"Blow your nose, you great baby," Lord Sinwell said, disgusted. "And get off of me. Am I your guardian, or a couch?" He was quite eager to quit the boy's room and seek his own, for his exertions had aroused him in a fashion which demanded private gratification.

Horace stood awkwardly. The hanging tails of his shirt stuck to his sweaty legs. He hastily did up his trousers, found a handkerchief somewhere on his person, and blew his nose.

"Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?" Lord Sinwell demanded.

"You... you forbade me to speak, sir." Horace twisted the handkerchief between spindly fingers.

"And for once you attended me! Well then, you may speak, so long as you tender a proper apology and show appropriate gratitude for being taught your place."

Horace fell to his knees in front of his astonished guardian. "I beg your forgiveness, sir," he stammered out. "Please... please accept my humble thanks for the education your lordship has graciously provided me."

"Not bad," his lordship said grudgingly.

Horace closed his eyes and tilted his face up. He had an air of expectation.

"What the blazes are you doing?" said Lord Sinwell.

The boy cracked one eye open. "Waiting for you to spend on my face, sir?"

"What?"

He opened both eyes, his face puzzled and shading to panicked. "That's... what my father would do after spanking me, sir. Is it... not your custom..."

"Oho," said Lord Sinwell, catching on quickly. He opened his trousers, releasing the organ which had begun to feel quite confined. "No, you are most correct. Resume your position." Attempting to regain his air of authority, he added, "I simply wasn't ready yet." Though in truth he was more than ready.

Horace, greatly relieved, closed his eyes again. "Come closer," his lordship said, and the boy shuffled forward until Lord Sinwell could clearly see the tracks of tears down Horace's cheeks. He ran a finger across one damp streak and licked the salt water from his fingertip. "Precious," he murmured. Next time he'd have to see whether he could collect the boy's tears, or arrange for them to fall directly where they would do the most good. For now he contented himself with a bit of spit in his palm.

Lord Sinwell's pump was primed, but he tried his damnedest to make this sweet moment last, working his hand slowly—not difficult, with his arm so well used—as he admired the sweet innocence of his ward's flushed and tearstained face. But that selfsame lovely sight was too appealing, and in moments he let out a groan and striped the pink cheeks and red lips with white. Horace made no move to wipe away this gift, but stayed motionless on his knees as though he, too, were savoring this moment of closeness that went some way to repairing the breach caused by his thoughtless earlier behavior and his lordship's harsh but necessary response.

After a moment's repose, Lord Sinwell stood, pushing the chair back, and worked his foot into his shoe while he did up his trousers. "I suppose," he allowed, "that your father taught you something worthwhile after all."

Having set himself to rights, he let himself out of the room, reluctantly closing the door on the winsome tableau of Horace kneeling before the empty chair.


End file.
